"It was root, hog, or die with me, Sally," he continued, "and I rooted.
. . . I wonder--that fellow on the horse--I have a feeling about him.
See, he's been riding hard and long-you can tell by the way the horse
drops his legs. He sags a bit himself. . . . But isn't it beautiful,
all that out there--the real quintessence of life."
The air was full of delicate particles of frost on which the sun
sparkled, and though there was neither bird nor insect, nor animal,
nor stir of leaf, nor swaying branch or waving grass, life palpitated
in the air, energy sang its song in the footstep that crunched the frosty
ground, that broke the crusted snow; it was in the delicate wind that
stirred the flag by the barracks away to the left; hope smiled in the
wide prospect over which the thrilling, bracing air trembled. Sally had
chosen right.
"You had a big thought when you brought me here, guinea-girl," he added
presently. "We are going to win out here"--he set the child down--"you
and I and this lucky sixpence." He took up his short fur coat. "Yes,
we'll win, honey.
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